


asagao city never sleeps

by cheapsushi, lotsofdreamboats



Category: Asagao Academy: Normal Boots Club
Genre: (ily), (no sexy time here kids), 1920s, Alternate Universe, Angst, Blood, Crying, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Guns, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Kissing, Knives, M/M, Mafia AU, Multi Chapter, Rated M for Violence Only, Use of Tobacco, bear with me... this is a long story, i promised myself i wouldn’t write anymore flowertown, oh god there’s so much angst in this one, pew pew, stab stab, that was a fuckin lie, this au is all thanks to @dreamboatz, use of alcohol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2020-03-06 23:26:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18861100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheapsushi/pseuds/cheapsushi, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotsofdreamboats/pseuds/lotsofdreamboats
Summary: the camera pans over a bustling city, thoroughly itching with a story to tell. we sit patiently and watch as our young journalist sets the stage for her readers.





	1. black ink and dead ends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!!!! hi this au is now my life so don’t let this flop-
> 
> also this era. in the fic is loosely (im talking super loose) inspired by the 1920s. now idk about you, but im not a 1920s expert. so yeah. please don’t get mad at me

The hypothetical camera, speaking as if there was one in a scene such as this, pans over a narrow street; Midnight rain drums leisurely below, merely speckling the concrete sidewalks. In the shadows, a young lady makes her way downtown.

Her name is Hana Mizuno, a twenty-four year old journalist writing for the Asagao City Chronicle under the pen name ‘The Wallflower’. Her efforts on uncovering the latest mysteries of local crime were so far fruitless, the only information coming from outside sources and untrustworthy eyewitnesses.

She shivered, drawing her jacket and messenger bag closer to her light frame, keeping in as much warmth as she could. Unfortunately, Hana had forgotten her keys to her apartment this morning, but fortunately the bar her roommate worked at was only another few blocks away. There, she could wait for Mai’s shift to let up, review her notes, and potentially heat herself up with a cigarette.

With a sigh, Hana pictured what the next few torturous hours would look like for her.

Good God, she had so many notes to review…

Hana idly traced the familiar embroidered acronym on the side of her bag, sidestepping puddles and pot holes. Of course she was aware of the fact diving into it that journaling the local mobs was going to be difficult, sure, but not _this_ difficult!

They were mythological- _cryptic_ , even! Honestly, for two assumingly large crime groups in a developed enough city, you’d expect to know at least a _little_ about either of them.

What an honest bother, but no use in complaining. There was no changing the facts, and the facts were what they were.

The two mobs known to the public only as The Boots and The Blocks were at war, and _have_ been at war due to an unexplained reason. No formal names were known, only scattered code. Titles like _‘Slaughter’_ and _‘Brute’_ and _‘Erudite’_ were tossed around, sadly with no faces attached.

Daily street talk spilled rumors, but so far the most reasonable and repetitive reason for the shooting was this: revenge. Chatter told Hana about a night, almost a year ago, filled with stray gunshots and desperate crying.

Someone had been killed that night.

Someone important.

Hana moved to Asagao City shortly after that incident, hoping to latch on to this story and gain a following.

It was clearly obvious now that she should _keep on_ hoping, because there was absolutely nothing to report on other than rumors and words already written a thousand times before in _so_ many different shapes and forms and-

From the alley beside her, a borderline deafening _crash_. Hana shrieked, her left hand clung to her bag and the other in front of herself for defense.

Against her expectations, no one came attacking her. Her tensed shoulders relaxed, and the otherwise now silent passageway was littered with panicked mutterings.

...Hana knew for a fact, in her tiny beating heart, that she should just walk away.

She should just run while she still had the chance.

She should just yell for help, get someone to show up and take care of this situation _for_ her because obviously- this five-foot-two, ninety pound lady would probably end up _dead_ in a situation such as this.

But something in her gut told her she… couldn’t.

Damn, she didn’t _want_ to leave this.

Maybe it was the irrational sociopath that camped out in everyone that was pushed down deep inside of her who never saw the light of day who was feeling this, but this felt… exhilarating. Risky.

 _Dangerous_.

Hana Mizuno, the daredevil- who’d have guessed?!

Hana crept closer to the noise, her steps careful and as soundless as they could’ve possibly been on the wet pavement. Her eyes caught something through her dew dropped glasses.

Through the shadows, a tall- like, _really fuckin’ tall_ -figure lumbered with his back to Hana, pulling an unanimated husk behind them through the dark. They struggled and grumbled into the illumination of a nearby lamppost, giving Hana a quick snapshot their features.

This was a man, judging by their (his?) height and general build, his head topped with a black fedora. His white dress shirt’s sleeves were becoming increasingly soaked in the rain. His eyelashes were beaded with droplets, brows furrowed and mouth pulled into a frustrated dash.

The husk was pulled into the light, Hana’s line of sight perfectly placed as to see what it-

Oh.

Oh _God_.

That was a fucking dead body.

A bonafide, genuine, _human corpse_ limp and sickly pale on the black concrete was right in front of Hana’s eyes, and what the ever living _fuck_ was she supposed to do about it?!

The murderer (Was he a murderer? Did Hana even _want_ to know?!) in front of her huffed, shaking his head. He turned around, tugging the victim’s ankles in his grasp behind him.

He whined, eyes glued to his own footsteps. “C’mon, every _freakin’_ time- why couldn’t Brute just-“

Hana’s breath caught in her throat as the man closed a few feet’s distance between them. He must’ve heard her sound, because he snapped his eyes up to her.

She didn’t know how he could’ve been more shocked than herself, but he yelped slightly, dropping his catch with a thud.

Their stare down lasted for a few more awkward seconds, but through a shaky breath he broke the silence.

“Uhhh, _shoot_ ,” He inhaled through his teeth, panicking even more as Hana took a slow step backwards. Her mouth hung open as if she were about to yell, and the assassin knew he had to take action. “Okay, um, look, I-I know this looks bad- like, really, _really_ bad- but please, you’ve gotta lemme-”

“Holy _shit_ , did you- you…” Hana’s voice wavered, raising minutely with each syllable. “Did you _murder-_!”

The last word was a shout, a cry for help, and fedora man slapped a hand over Hana’s mouth. Her cry was muffled, and the man grabbed her wrist to brace her.

“Hey, _hey_!” He held a finger to his lips, shushing her, as she struggled in his grasp, blue eyes fearful. “What’s the deal, you _want_ to get us caught?! Please, I can’t be seen here, and neither can-”

His eyes flicked down to the embroidery on her messenger bag, and he cut himself short. Hesitantly, he released her mouth. “ _A.C.C._ , where do I recognize that..?”

The lad blinked, his eyebrows furrowed. “You… you one of those canaries for the Asagao City Chronicle?”

He expected her to nod or make at least _some_ sort of response, but she made no move to. He huffed and spoke anyway.

“Look, I-I can tell you all you want to know, just- don’t tell _no one_ about what you saw here tonight, capiche? All you want to know and anything else- I mean it! Honest to God!”

Somewhere in the nearby distance, a smattering of heated yells started, each voice shouting in a round.

Hana’s captor shot his head up expectantly, his pale, gray eyes attacked with nerve. There was no one behind them, but judging by his stare, there sure was a chance someone was going to show up soon. His shoulders rolled, and he leaned back down to Hana for a quick whisper.

“Head to the Bottled Brick off Azalea Street and ‘round the corner this time tomorrow and ask the barkeep for me- for Yungtown. I swear, I’ll be there,” He awkwardly dusted off Hana’s shoulders, who merely flinched. “You have my word.”

The man- _Yungtown_ -released Hana finally, his hands shaking in anticipation. He straightened himself out. “You want your story?”

She inhaled a much needed breath, her two-handed grip on the strap of her bag so tight that her bones strained through her knuckles.

Yungtown looked regretfully remorse. “Well, I guarantee you, you’re gonna get one.” He paused, looking her up and down through the rain. Leaving it at that, he turned back around to clutch his victim once again.

Hana hyperventilated, gaze flickering from the man, to the body, and then to the sidewalk behind her.

She whipped around in a stumble, tripping and sprinting faster than what was hardly necessary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/6p1xo7s5ks5ahqhsgtx106vai/playlist/3DBROCwmAUHd1qnVsKA1bZ?si=iD-dNE4ERqiVtuTo9lZChg
> 
> the ask-blog (i mod this!!): https://asagao-city-never-sleeps.tumblr.com/


	2. of seduction and assassination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this au makes me cry jus thinking about it i stg- 
> 
> tbh this is starting off really slowly but. it’ll pick up eventually 
> 
> (i hope at least cough cough)

“He was dragging a _WHAT?!_ ”

Hana sunk lower into herself on the small sofa. Ceaseless casual chatter echoed outside, the collective speech slurring together in the small backstage of Mai’s bar.

The journalist opened her mouth to explain, but the bar singer persisted.

“Hana, you’re taking this _way_ too casually! For Heaven’s sake, you could’ve been _killed!_ ” Mai paced back and forth in front of the mirror, a stressed hand in her hair. “I mean- I hate to say ‘I told you so’, but I _did_ warn you about walking around alone this late at night!”

“Mai, please,” Hana sat back up, hoping to soothe her friend’s nerves. “Honestly, everything is fine, I wasn’t hurt-”

“I know, I know, I _knoooow_ ,” Mai’s elbows rested on her vanity, shoving over loose perfume bottles. She heaved a groan into her palms. “It’s fine, all _fiiine,_ really! I’m probably just upset at the fact that, oh, I don’t know-”

Mai whirled around, her hands thrust to the air. “That that ‘Yungtown’ or whoever guy was a _fucking murderer?!_ Honestly, I feel like you’re _really_ trying to ignore that right now!”

“But Mai, you don’t understand…” The disbelieving look of stupor on Mai’s face persisted. “He offered me information on The Boots and The Blocks if I met him tomorrow, and I really could use the publicity boost right now.”

“Yes, because your fame is more important than your safety.”

“In this case, yes! My articles are getting half the number of reads of what The Serpent gets every week!”

“That’s only because Mimi’s a shit-spewing liar with unreliable facts!”

“We need to put food on the table! And, well, what other options do I have right now other than interrogating him?” Hana’s friend opened her mouth to answer, but she cut her off. “And don’t bother saying ‘not getting murdered.’”

Mai gave her somewhat of a pained expression, and in that moment, an employee’s head cracked through the door. “Mai, you’re on in two- be _ready_ this time.” Not even a second after Mai nodded and hummed a snarky reply, they were back out into the bar.

Hana had quietly stood up in that time, slinking to the tiny desk in the corner and hanging her bag off the edge.

“Hey- don’t think you can escape me just ‘cause I need to work!” Mai’s heels clacked as she made her way to Hana’s seat, yanking her up and grasping her shoulders. “Look at me.”

Hana begrudgingly made eye contact with her friend, eyes narrowed in stubbornness.

“I do _not_ care about what you have to say- you are _not_ going to go and see that guy tomorrow, got it? I’m not letting you put your life on the line for some stupid job! This dude? _Obviously_ sketch- he’s either going to lace your drink, shoot you out back, or take you ‘round to his murder den where he will lace your drink and then promptly shoot you out back after making out with your soon-to-be corpse.”

Hana’s face screamed annoyance, but Mai persisted. “Promise me: You’re. Not. Going.”

“Mai, not everyone is out to-”

“ _Promise_ me, Hana!”

The same employee’s head peeked through the ajar door once again. “ _Mai,_ it’s been more than two-”

“I _KNOW!_ ”

Their face paled in fear, ducking out, and Mai rolled her eyes. She put a hand to her temple. “Ugh, that kid, I swear.”

Shaking her head and flaunting back to the vanity, Mai requested once more. “I’m not leaving, Hana.”

Hana faltered. “B-but, uh, Mai? Aren’t you..? Don’t you need to, uh, go on stage?”

She chuckled. “Oh, yes, that is certainly a thing that needs to be done. Undoubtedly.” And yet, she stalled.

“So, why aren’t you?”

“It’s simple, really,” Mai continued to fiddle with makeup brushes, mindlessly pretending to waft perfume onto her neck. “Because oh- how _unfortunate!_ Woe is _me!_ Hana, I must tell you, an absolute _angel_ of a companion of mine so dearest to moi won’t humor me! For _shame!_ ”

The pink-haired journalist pathetically whined, hiding her growing panic rather poorly. “Wait- but if you keep stalling- Mai, you’ll lose this job again!”

Mai shrugged, her mouth pulled into a smug grin. “I’ll tell you, girl, absolutely _nothing_ in the entire world would get me to go out there- well, except for maybe _one_ thing… my roomie promising me she won’t risk her life and see that dastardly man tomorrow!”

The redhead whirled around, continuing her charade. “But, _siiiiigh_ , she simply _won’t_ cooperate! So I lie here,” Mai draped herself over the sofa. “Ready to accept my inevitable demise once more.”

Hana squeaked, Mai’s egging finally getting the best of her. “Okay, okay, fine! I promise!”

Mai opened an eye from her position, smirking. “Promise me what?”

She whined, pulling her best friend from the couch. “I promise I’m not going to see Youngtown tomorrow, honest! Now, _go,_ before you get fired!”

Mai snickered, getting practically thrown out the door. “Well, I’m satisfied- goodnight, my dearest, most lovable-”

“Just _go!_ ”

 

Needless to say, Hana went anyway.

For she had promised her dear, lovely, positively _darb_ friend that she wouldn’t see ‘Youngtown’. And, unbeknownst to Mai, that was not the correct spelling of our assassin’s name. What a sneaky trick- how could she have possibly known to drop the ‘O’ in ‘Yungtown’ in a verbal conversation, where spelling was virtually meaningless in the first place? Simply put: she couldn’t, so chalk one up for Hana!

...anyway.

Hana’s gaze closed in on a dimly lit sign: ‘The Bottled Brick’. It took her a prolonged while to find this place, the name wasn’t familiar to a lot of folks apparently. The zipper on her bag clinked against her notebook rings as she climbed the short steps, pushing open the door’s handle.

Inside the speakeasy, quiet conversation took place. There were only a few scattered tables, contrasting the large array of various sized bottles on the shelf behind the bar. Drunken singing took place in a corner, and the remaining bar goers onlooked in lukewarm annoyance.

Hana strode up cautiously to the barkeep, who was preoccupied with thoroughly scrubbing off lipstick residue from shot glasses. She cleared her throat.

“Excuse me, sir,” He shifted his gaze over, mildly disinterested. “I was told to go here yesterday night; would a man going by the name of ‘Yungtown’ happen to reside here tonight?”

He quirked an eyebrow, looking Hana up and down without moving his head an inch. The worker didn’t speak, merely nodding to the back. She nodded a simple reply and went on her way.

And there he was.

Chatting animatedly with an employee by his booth, Yungtown grinned to Hana as she made eye contact with him. He waved the employee goodbye, chuckling to no one in particular. “Haha, took you long enough- welcome to the _finest_ juice joint in the east of Asagao City!” He flared his arms out, much too dramatized.

She took in the sights behind her once more. “I’m not sure I’d say ‘the finest’,” Her newfound colleague frowned as she pulled out a chair, taking a seat. “It took me at least an hour to find this place, and then some.”

“What can I say? It’s a hidden gem- unsurprising that a pearl such as yourself turn up here.” He smirked, ineffective on getting Hana to smile.

She deadpanned instead. “...Right.”

Yungtown faltered. “Uh, so, anyway. Can I get you anything to drink? It’s on me.”

“I’m content,” She revealed a water bottle from her bag, placing a pen along with her worn notebook on the table in front of her. “Let’s get started, shall we? So, Yungtown-”

Yungtown cut her off with the raise of his hand. “Please, no need for my alias. Common ground here- the name’s Luke Sizemore, local hitman extraordinaire for The Blocks.” Luke held out his hand for a shake, and Hana took it hesitantly.

“Hana Mizuno, journalist for the Asagao City Chronicle. It’s a… pleasure… to meet you,” She pulled away first. “Mr. Sizemore. I’m here tonight to ask a few questions on the local crime groups known to the public only as The Boots and The Blocks. You offered information that could prove useful for my study in exchange for my silence on… the incident last night.”

Luke reclined his back in his seat. “Ask away, doll.” He took a polite sip of his drink.

She glared from her page to his smile. “Mr. Sizemore, I’d prefer to keep things professional tonight, thank you very much.”

“Well, of course-” Even with the confirmation, Luke didn’t seem one too keen for formality. “Say, does that name mean anything? ‘Hana’? Now, I’m not too sharp to begin with, but I’m sure that’s not a Western name.”

Hana stared at Luke with the indifference of a stale cracker. “...it means ‘flower’ in Japanese. Now, please, let’s get back to the topic on hand.”

“Pretty name for a pretty girl. Alright, Flower, what do you want to know?” Laughter trickled into Luke’s voice; seems like he was one to be easily amused. “Get on with this interrogation, already!”

She rolled her eyes. _What_ a character.

Hana wordlessly clicked her pen, putting it to the fresh page below her. She scribbled the date in the corner, along with a theatrical note at the top: ‘The Origin Story’.

She cleared her throat. “So, shall we start from the beginning?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mafia!luke is an annoying flirty bastard and the journalist ain’t having none of it. good for her


	3. the ballad of the boots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah shit here we go again
> 
> also you may have noticed but i changed my username??? hope it’s not too jarring lmao
> 
> ok enough chit chat this chapter is fun go read it

“Can’t really recall how long exactly, but The Boots have been ‘round for a while. A lot longer than us, at least.” 

Luke’s voice was almost monotone. He stirred the drink in front of him with a straw, the plastic twisted in between his thumb and pointer finger. “If I had to take a stab at it, I’d say two or three decades, tops.”

Hana’s hand scrawled down a quick bullet point, her wrist poised to write more. The lack of supplementary light in the back of the bar gave the conversation an almost sinister atmosphere, only adding to the melancholy tone of their conversation. 

“I don’t know so much ‘bout their hierarchy. Their leader- he goes by ‘Shark’ -is a bit of a mystery. As for the rest of ‘em,” He shrugged. “I’m in the dark. I can recognize some faces, but other than that, it’s blurry.”

“The faces?” Hana questioned.

The assassin nodded. “Only a few. We weren’t always so rigid with each other. For the last ten years, we were mutuals. There were a lotta neutral encounters between us, and I got to know a few of ‘em,” His face brightened momentarily, a simple glimmer in the dark; a happier recollection. “I’d almost have called them _friends_.”

The glimmer toned down as a whisper. He huffed a humorless chuckle. “That is, up until Completion got shot.”

All remaining traces of noise in the speakeasy fizzled into static. Hana’s heart skipped a beat. 

The rumors were correct.

Luke paused, taking a long sip of the beverage before him. The Wallflower felt a shiver jolt down her spine as he placed down the glass; whether it was caused by the abrupt ‘clink’ or her own nerves getting the best of her, she wasn’t sure. 

Hana waited a second before attempting to continue. “Is… is there any other intel on this ‘Completion’ figure you could give me?”

He dipped his head once, resuming eye contact. “Completion, he… he was assumed to be Shark’s partner. They were close. _Really_ close,” Luke scratched at his chin for a moment. “And then one night he just… bumped off. One of our own got him.”

Hana’s posture stiffened. The man in front of her snickered, but Hana couldn’t tell what could’ve been funny about _any_ of this. “It was an accident, too! A lower guy of ours mistook him for a douchebag of theirs, Tronic, and everythin’ just kinda-” 

He mimed a bomb dropping and the collision that followed. 

“Went kaput from there. It’s sorta funny in a messed-up way, eh? An entire war built solely on a mistake.” Despite his playful attitude, Luke’s tone was bitter, bordering on resentful. 

She blinked. “Mr. Sizemore, you’re acting as if Completion wasn’t even a real person,” The journalist argued. “As if he was merely an idea, a character in a story. Don’t you find that kind of… heartless?”

“I don’t make the rules, Flower,” Hana rolled her eyes at the nickname, Luke’s mouth pulled into a smirk. “I’m just playing my part in the game. Besides-”

He leaned forward, elbows on the wooden surface. “Ain’t that your thing, anyway? Stories and the like?”

“I suppose…” Hana grimaced at her accomplice, scooting her chair back a degree. “Your display of moral compass is still mildly disconcerting, to say the very least.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, his face pulled in a way that showed he couldn’t believe what she was suggesting. “Look, at this point, I couldn’t give a damn about what happens to The Boots. The years spent around ‘em don’t mean anything to me anymore.” 

“It sounds to me like you have some unresolved issues to work out.”

“If by ‘unresolved issues’ you mean struggling through a gang war, then sure.”

The short silence trailing after was slightly awkward, so Hana made an effort to keep this absolutely riveting conversation moving. 

“So is it right to assume that the whole…” Hana dragged her pen across the page. “ _Incident_ last night at our encounter was sparked by this feud…?”

“Oh yeah!” Strangely, Luke perked up. “Almost forgot about all that.”

That string of words wasn’t clicking together in her head. “No offense or anything, sir, but that really felt like the elephant in the room here.”

“Eh,” He shrugged in his seat. “You start to lose track, eventually. But really, I’m so sorry for spooking you last night- you looked completely _terrified._ ”

He frowned pitifully at her. Hana felt disgusted. 

“It’s fine. Really.” She reassured through a tight toothed smile.

“Good to hear,” The hitman grinned, oblivious. “Y’know, I hafta say- I’m kinda proud of my work last night.”

The journalist balked. “You’re… _proud_ of murdering someone?”

Her voice was raised ever so slightly, inviting strange looks from other bar patrons. 

“Woah, okay, when you put it like that, _no,_ ” He hushed his tone, a sign for Hana to lower the volume. “What I meant to say was that I’m kinda proud of how I, y’know, executed it.”

Luke winked. “Pun intended.”

The lady in front of him put a hand to her temple, the beginnings of a headache dawning. “Can you _please_ just give me some context? Who was the person you killed, and what did they do to deserve it?”

“My boss assigned me to take him out, so naturally, I did. He was a member of The Boots, code name ‘Prince’.”

He laughed in what Hana could’ve only assumed was disbelief, as if he was thinking on how disgusting of a person the clientele was. Which he was. “A _total_ narcissist, and a real piece of garbage. Better off dead.”

That… didn’t really answer her question. “What did he do to warrant _murder?_ ”

The tone shifted, and Luke gave her a dead-serious stare. “Trust me on this, Flower. He deserved it.”

Seeing his unwavering intensity, Hana hesitantly nodded, assuming it was best to just leave it at that. 

“It was an easy job, too,” Luke reminisced. “I’m a part-time barista to help ends meet, he came in late last night, and well…”

He reclined in his chair. “Let’s just say I make a _killer_ cup of coffee.”

“Um,” Hana blanked. “What…?”

Seeing as his joke was ineffective, he clarified. “I poisoned his coffee and the idiot actually drank it.”

“Ah…” The journalist eyed her water bottle, any sign of thirst suddenly disintegrating. “How, uh… how lovely.”

“You know, I think I’m going to call this a night,” Hana murmured out loud, trying to hide her worries concerning her own life and safety. She hurriedly corralled her things, haphazardly shoving items into her bag. “Thank you for your time and cooperation, Mr. Sizemore.”

“Well, if that’s the case-” In an instant, Luke was out of his seat, the chair skirting behind him. “Let me walk you home!”

Hana’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment, anxiety rising. “Sir, I-I assure you, I am _perfectly_ capable of walking myself home.”

“Oh, but I’ll feel bad! At least let me make sure you don’t get mugged!”

After a moment of thought, he awkwardly mumbled out ‘again’.

“Well, I- I mean…” She back pedaled, anxiety taking the wheel. “I really, um, it’s- I _really_ don’t want to be a bother-”

Her ramble was interrupted by a hearty laugh. “Ah, that’s cute, but please- I may be a hitman, but that doesn’t mean I’m a complete _savage!_ ”

Any other protests Hana might have had went unheard (or just straight-up ignored) as she was herded to the exit. The door swung shut behind them, and Luke spoke up again. 

“Where to?”

Hana adjusted the messenger bag strap on her shoulder, looking up at Luke. “Uh, my apartment is just off Primrose Avenue.”

He nodded, stepping ahead. “So off we go.”

 

The walk to the building was more than just a little tense, to say the least. 

Tense for Luke, because no matter what he said, Hana didn’t seem to really be picking up what he was putting down. 

Arguably, it was much more tense for Hana, because her situation just so happened to be shuffling side-by-side with a literal murderer in the middle of the night with no one else around and God she was probably going to die in the next few minutes if her suspicions were correct. 

But, against her expectations, she arrived perfectly unharmed. 

“Thank you for, uh, walking me back, sir.” Hana awkwardly stood on the steps leading to the complex’s entrance, finally at level eye contact with Luke.

He waved a hand. “It’s not a problem! But here-” Luke reached into his pocket, freezing momentarily when he couldn’t find what he was searching for. 

“Ah, shoot,” He hurriedly pat the rest of his pockets, embarrassed. “Usually, I’d have a card on me, but- do you mind if I just…?”

He gestured to the notebook poking out of the journalist’s bag and it took a second for her to get the hint. 

“Oh, sure.” She pulled the book out, along with her pen. Hastily, he flipped to a blank page, scratching something down. 

The hitman closed the journal with a flair of finality, handing it back to The Wallflower. 

“Alright, well, it was definitely nice to meet you, Flower.” A smirk adorned his face once more- good _God_ , did this man have _any_ other expressions to use?!

“Are you _really_ insisting on addressing me as ‘Flower’?”

Luke quirked a brow. “Well, that _is_ your name, ain’t it?” Before she could retort, he held out his hand for a shake. 

She took his hand once again, this time with less hesitation. “I want to thank you again for your cooperation, Mr. Sizemore.”

He waved it off. “Don’t even mention it,” Luke took a step back, leaving a few feet between them. “I expect half of the earnings from this article, alright?”

Seeing the shock on her paled face, he chuckled. “That was a joke. Well, I’ll hope to see you around!”

He saluted snarkily on his departure, and Hana forced out a quick ‘goodbye’. The journalist stood on the steps as he left, dumbfounded. 

He was out of eyesight soon enough, and Hana fumbled the black notebook out of her bag. She flipped through the pages, scouring for the most recent addition. 

A tiny exhale escaped her nose when she came across it- a seven digit number along with a scrawled message. 

_don’t hesitate to call if you’re lonely or in need of disposing a body! - luke s. (yungtown)_

_p.s.: that last part was a joke. but please, do call if you wanna get a drink again sometime. ;)_

Hana practically slammed her notebook shut at that, face screwed up in frustration. She shoved the book back into her bag, taking in a shaky breath. 

“There’s no time for that, Hana,” She thought aloud to no one but herself, finally entering the lobby of the apartment complex. “You have work to do.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mafia flowertown be like: https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/552488545260929025/598838701396852738/hana_mizuno_you_put_that_knife_down_he_just_wants_to_love_you.png  
> (thank you to dream on the asagao discord server for making this actual piece of art! <3)
> 
> also. can y’all believe luke actually killed someone, wow i wonder who it could’ve been. he sure seemed to be a clown, but who knows. let’s just hope he was doing us all a favor


	4. shark infested waters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a bit on the short side but. :^P

The newspaper was slammed to the desk, jostling all objects that were unfortunate enough to be sat around the impact. One bottle from the ever-growing collection toppled to the floor, fragmenting the brown glass. 

We see the husk of a once dignified man, his presence being shrouded by the office’s shadows. With a roughened hand, he gracelessly reaches over for the neck of the closest bottle. 

The features of his face are illuminated momentarily, the glint from the liquor bottle in the sliver of morning light through the window reflecting back on him. His gaze is weary, the tell tale signs of forlorn desperation set in his grimace. 

The man takes a swig of the poison, eyes downcasted onto the headline beneath him.

Moments later, another man- one of a little more stature and refinement -comes into view. His glasses and cerulean vest are shadowed a shade darker as he stands in the open doorway, a hand raised to knock twice on the frame. 

The boss didn’t bother looking up. He mumbled through his speech. “Erudite.”

“I take it that you’ve read today’s Chronicle, Shark.” Erudite crossed into the office, the crunch of loose papers under his steps all too familiar. He shifts the Manila folder under his arm, the weight to the file making it mildly uncomfortable. 

“‘Course I have,” A hint of an English accent hid underneath Shark’s impatient tone. “What the fuck do you think _this_ is for?”

Shark swore as he gestured to the particularly strong bottle in his hold. 

Erudite backtracked. “My apologies, sir.”

Shark was quiet after that, only taking another sip of his drink. 

The bottle was discarded soon enough, Shark’s hold being replaced on the newspaper. He flipped to the front, the headline taunting him— ‘Tragic Casualty Kindles Gang War’.

“The nerve of this prat, goin’ around giving out my classified shit…”

“‘Wallflower’…” Shark muttered to himself. “What kind of punk do you have to be to refer to yourself as _‘Wallflower’?_ The ridiculity, some absolute nerve…”

His mutterings continued, and Erudite stepped forward. 

“I took the liberty of looking into the author of the article and was able to find this,” The file under the secretary’s arm was slid onto the desk’s surface. “I traced it back to a ‘Hana Mizuno’, aged twenty-four.”

Shark skimmed through the pages, more so focused on the words coming out of Erudite’s mouth.

“Ms. Mizuno moved to Asagao City from the town of Amaririsu a little under a year ago, switching to her current pen name as she did so. She has been journaling the self-proclaimed feud between us and The Blocks since then, and this seems to have been her most information-heavy column to date.”

Shark reviewed the file’s contents one last time, Hana’s face staring back at him through black and white photographs. “Who… who the hell gave this- this _‘Hana’_ my information?” He gestured to the article to the side. 

His assistant shook his head. “Unclear. It would feel right to assume it was one of The Blocks, but then again-”

Erudite was interrupted with a jolt, his boss pounding a fist on the desk.

Shark grumbled a bitter curse under his breath. 

“Those goddamn… rat _bastards_ ,” Shark spat out through a clenched jaw. “Did you figure out her location?”

Erudite held back the waver in his voice. “Just a few blocks from here. Her apartment is right off Primrose Avenue.”

”Send PBG.”

The secretary blinked. “I... beg your pardon, sir?”

”Must I explain myself?”

Shark elaborated regardless, ignoring Erudite’s attempt at an apology.

“I don’t care on how PBG goes about it, I just want ‘Hana’ back here  _tonight_.”

At that, Shark reached over for his lighter. Pulling a cigarette from his pocket, he lit it, taking a puff from in between his fingers. 

“She and I need to have a little discussion about sticking your nose in places it doesn’t belong.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heck this chapter was. actually really fun to write
> 
> i fluctuate between loving/hating shark but my mind is set on erudite. he deserves Better


	5. the belly of the beast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoo hoo we be wilding,, first update of the school year,, i started last tuesday and it’s. bonkers
> 
> anyway im still gonna. update this n stuff, might be a bit slow due to school and other things but. yeehaw

Dealing with more crime men was, quite frankly, the last thing on Hana’s itinerary, being preceded only by work and groceries. 

…Okay, seeing as it _was_ the end of the day and judging by the general presence of a pair of paper bags in her arms, Hana felt that this might as well be happening. 

Perhaps she should’ve added more to her schedule… 

A stringy, lanky figure leaned on the wall next to her apartment door. His arms were crossed, green suit sleeves strained, and a mop of unkempt shaggy hair on his head fell onto the frames of sunglasses. 

…Sunglasses? Indoors? Who the hell did this guy think he was?

He seemed to be nodding off where he stood when Hana inched closer, his breaths shallow. And even when the journalist stood practically on top of him, the man remained undeterred. 

“Um… is everything alright, sir?” Hana shifted her groceries to one arm, reaching a hand up to tap on his shoulder.

The man immediately woke, yelping a mild curse. Hana took a step back, shocked, but mainly indifferent. 

“Jesus Christ, who the hell-?!” He whipped his head around, scouring for any sign of an attacker, abruptly settling as his eyes met Hana’s. 

The startled man froze like a deer in the headlights. He blinked, a realization dawning on him. 

“ _Ohhhh,_ you must be-” A dorky smile fell onto his face, but he immediately shook it off. 

Instead, he reeled in a serious, mean-business attitude. Clearing his throat, he fixed his sunglasses. 

“Are you Hana Mizuno?”

“Uhm… yes?”

“Well then,” Leaning his side back on the wall, he stiffly flaunted out a hand to Hana. 

“Come with me if you want to live.”

…Hana had no clue on how to even begin to think of a response. 

“I… I’m sorry?”

His eyes blinked open comically, arm drooping slightly. “Uh-” 

“Sir, please, correct me if I’m wrong,” Hana swiveled her torso, looking down the hall. “But I don’t presume I’m in any immediate danger…?”

He shifted himself straight, face flushed and sweaty in embarrassment. “It’s, uh- that was- I-I saw it somewhere, so I just thought I’d, um-”

“And would you mind if I asked why you’re wearing sunglasses indoors?”

He flipped off his glasses in a flash. “Okay, well, you _obviously_ don’t understand the concept of ‘cool’, so that’s too bad, I guess. _Look_ , I’ll just get to the point-”

The man shoved his hands in his pockets, avoiding any and all eye contact. “Name’s PBG. With The Boots, and I’m here to bring you back to HQ.”

“Uhm… what for?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. Was just told to come pick you up- Erudite didn’t tell me much, but Shark seemed pretty peeved ‘bout all it.”

“Oh, that sounds like… fun.” Hana muttered, lying to herself because this, in actuality, did _not_ sound like fun. 

But what could she do? Refuse this ‘PBG’ guy’s demand and get herself killed? After all, ‘death by gang member’ wasn’t exactly scheduled on the itinerary. Not that she really wanted it to be scheduled, either. 

She faltered in thought for a moment. “Would you just… do you mind giving me a minute?” 

The journalist shrugged to the paper bags in her hold. PBG blanked like an AOL dial-up screen, processing. 

“Oh, yeah, sure, yeah,” He took a step back from the door. “Yeah.”

“Thanks.” Hana half-smiled, half-grimaced awkwardly, fumbling keys from her skirt pocket and unlocking the door. She closed it behind her with a forced chuckle. 

Annnnnd panic time. 

The completely panicked journalist took a few shaky breaths, haphazardly throwing the groceries to the counter. She rested her forehead against the cool wall. 

_Calm down, Hana, just… think._

_What would Mai do?_

…Well, if Mai _were_ here, she’d kick this guy’s ass three ways to Timbuktu, no questions asked. Unfortunately, Hana was not as strong or even strong- _willed_ as Mai, so ass-kicking was out of the picture. 

This man- PBG -obviously meant business if he were here, but _why?_

What for? What could she have _possibly_ done that would warrant-

…The article. 

 _Shit_. 

God, Hana hadn’t even thought of the repercussions, she was too focused on advancing her career- her latest entry brought in _triple_ of what her other columns had, sure, but (in Sasaki’s words) success wasn’t exactly worth _dying_ for! 

Her heart rate was off the walls, so the journalist took a moment to rationalize. 

…She’d confronted a murderer before, right? Hana had _literally_ sat across from one a few nights ago, and she turned out fine… more or less. 

So what was meeting a few more going to do to her?

Hana’s head flicked around, settling when she eyed her pocket knife, (a gift from her roommate), on the coffee table. 

Shoving the sheathed metal into her pocket, she fished for a bit of composure, half-walking and half-stumbling to the door. 

If she were to face death tonight, she could at least _attempt_ to put up a fight. 

 

Unspoken tension hung heavy in the air as Hana trailed behind the caporegime, his hasty pace mixed with his long legs made it a little difficult to keep up with ease. 

“This is the place,” PBG muttered. The pair stopped outside in front of a seemingly normal office building; to passersby, this was just another workspace. “Good ol’ home-base.”

The gang member heckled awkwardly, almost uncomfortably. It sounded like he _really_ didn’t want to be here, his pocketed fists suggesting the same. Hana would have pressed him on this, being the natural interrogator she was, but ultimately decided against it. 

”Shark’s office is just off the left up the stairs. It’s hard to miss, trust me.” 

The journalist took a few more steps forward, but the caporegime remained stationary. She shot a look over her shoulder. 

He swallowed. “Sorry, but I, uh… I’m not going up with you.”

Hana gave him a curious glance that asked more questions than any number of words could. 

PBG rubbed the back of his neck, averting his eyes. “Ah, it’s just… knowing me, I’ll flub and say something dumb. And I really don’t plan on dying anytime soon.”

How comforting to hear. 

The caporegime instantly made the realization that that _might_ not have been the best thing to say. He frantically flailed his hands. “B-But I’m sure you’ll be perfectly fine! So long as you don’t make him mad! Just, uh-”

PBG looked around for an excuse, his eyes landing on his watch. His words fumbled awkwardly, tripping over his own tongue. “I just realized- I have somewhere to be! Goodbye!”

And, leaving the discomfort of being deep in enemy territory thick in the air, PBG spun on his heel, face drowned in embarrassment. 

Hana made a mental note to disregard that… strange encounter. 

Pushing open the door, she was met with a generic enough lobby and a generic enough staircase. 

…This _had_ to be the place, right?

PBG had said that Shark’s office was upstairs, so maybe that was where the bloody-crimey business went down? 

Hana ascended, pressing open the first door. Its translucent glass went ominously unlabeled- but then again, if you wanted to hide the headquarters of a crimelord, you probably shouldn’t be displaying your brand to the world. 

She was met with the clacking of a typewriter in a melancholy reception lobby. A few chairs and a sofa against the wall surrounded a glass coffee table, brochures for various takeout restaurants scattered on its surface. The familiar reek of liquor and stale cigarettes lingered in the air, flooding her lungs with a tightness that she wasn’t sure was reassuring or not. 

Hana strode up to the supposed front desk, catching the eye of the typist. 

“Ah- is it right to presume that you would be Ms. Mizuno?” The smartly dressed fellow smiled, hands folding as she drew near; filing cabinets lined the navy blue wall behind him in neat columns, mirroring the class of the secretary. 

Hana mumbled what must’ve been a confirmation. He nodded curtly, standing up to give her a handshake. 

“Good. You may call me Erudite. Shark has been expecting you.”

Even with this level introduction, Hana couldn’t help but hold back a shudder. This man felt too…  _hospitable_ to be involved with a gang. 

“It’s… nice to meet you, Erudite.”

Erudite merely chuckled. “As with you. Now, if you’ll just follow me, I’ll show you to Shark’s office.”

Her oxfords plinked like pennies on the hardwood; Hana slipped a hand into her skirt pocket, gauging the almost comfortable weight of the shiv. 

Our journalist steps into the office, the secretary tailing behind her. She’s immediately hit with a wave of dread- a flash of sudden chill that, unbeknownst to her, would be hanging around for a while. 

The setting was something straight out of a crime-drama program; we see the remnants of civility, a broken mirror of better times. Strewn papers and photographs, an unhealthily-sized collection of booze, jagged dents in the wall, shelves sheeted in layers upon layers of dust… all signs of inhumane heartbreak. Grief. 

In the center of it all, we see the host- a real big six. He doesn’t seem to notice the newcomers, only stirring when the secretary crosses the room to survey behind him. 

The Wallflower approaches the desk, stiff as a statue as Erudite leans down for a whisper. Shark, still focused on his own clasped hands on the table, nods once, signaling for the secretary to step back. 

Shark straightens himself out, gathering any fragments of dignity that he might’ve had left. He looks up, gaze growing ever sterner as his eyes land on Hana, traveling from her short stature to her up-did hair. He blinks, almost confused as he turns to whisper to his accomplice. 

Erudite mumbles a confirmation, Shark’s grimace only tightening. The boss pours himself a shot, downing it in an instant.

“So you’re… ‘The _Wallflower_.’”

His tone was accusatory, more so than questioning. “Yes, sir.”

A hum. “Interesting.”

The observation hangs in the air as he picks up a familiar newspaper. It rustles as he flips to the front. “You’ve really outdone your competition, hmm? Who fed you this little number?”

His glare was predatory; Hana’s thumb pressed into the side of her sheathed shiv, pouring some stress loose through the grip. The image of Mr. Sizemore, zealous yet collected, frames itself in her mind. “Out of respect for my client, sir, I’d rather not disclose.”

Shark’s eyes narrow. “Fair enough. Keep your secrets. All I ask in return is for you to respect mine.”

“And what if I don’t?”

The words escaped Hana before she could stop herself- _shit._

The boss’s face remains unchanged, stone cold. Shark contemplates for not even a few seconds before acting. 

He snaps his fingers. 

The secretary behind him shuffles to action, plucking a neat manila file from the desk. As if it were routine or even rehearsed, Erudite clears his throat, reciting its contents. 

“Mai Sasaki, aged twenty-four, going on twenty-five. An Aries. Holds a full-time occupation as a bar entertainer. Last known residence: the apartment complex on Primrose Avenue, room 511.”

Erudite must’ve felt the aura of the gut-wrenching horror that Hana radiated as his expression was clouded with what must’ve been some form of vile _pity._ He closes the file, not letting go, and suddenly Hana couldn’t breathe, her lungs twisting and suffocating her, now it was impossible to even _think-_

The internal storm was interrupted with a husky chuckle. 

“What? Do you know her?”

“Wh-Where did you-”

“I have my ways, Wallflower. Now…” Shark leans forward, a bastardly, toothy grin struck across his face. “How do you feel about respect? I’d consider the idea, if I were you… wouldn’t want a _certain individual_ to suffer the consequences due to your own selfish actions.”

Hana was petrified; she looks at Erudite, standing unwavering and calm throughout this whole tense encounter. She swore there was movement in his face, or what could’ve been a slight shake of his head, that helped her more than words ever would. 

Digging her nails into her palms, Hana stares at the floor, frustration in her brows. She lets out a sigh through her nose. 

“…Fine.”

The secretary’s shoulders slackened- a good sign? -and the boss dipped his head. “Glad we could come to an agreement. Thank you for your cooperation. You can leave now, if you wouldn’t mind.”

She dared enough to shoot a look of accusing audacity directly to Shark’s face- if he noticed, he must have chosen not to say anything. Hana pried her feet from their place on the floor, forcing herself to leave the room. 

The door swings shut behind her, leaving Shark and Erudite alone in the office. The upperman exhales, fingertips tapping upon the desk. 

Shark stares at the door. “I don’t trust her. Something about that Wallflower just… irks me. You understand what I’m saying.”

The secretary remains wordless. Shark stands up, chair skirting behind him. “You can be done for the day, Erudite, after you get someone to keep an eye on that journalist.”

“Yes, sir.”

Shark nods, leaving the scene and Erudite alone. Erudite shivers, a stream of what could only be described as nerves churning in his chest, a sort of anxiety he’s been holding onto for as long as the war’s been on. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh oh,,


	6. brothers in arms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> howdy! we back out here with a two chapter update woah what’s up with that ,
> 
> sorry that this took such a long time but,, augh

A cup of black coffee. The cheap window view of Asagao. Pens and pencils (of varying colors and models) set out in uniform columns. Several upon several stacks of documents, all brimming with knowledge from eyewitnesses in the city and anonymous suggestions. 

Of course, Hana would never be able to continue her life’s work and one dream she held onto in her so far short and uneventful existence but _this_ …

This, this just being the presence of having everything all laid out in front of her…

This was as close to Heaven as she could get. 

And then the bliss just had to be interrupted by the roommate, the flirt, the thud, and the lamp. 

_“HANAAAAA! THERE’S A WEIRD FUCKIN’ MAN IN OUR LIVING ROOOOOM!”_

“ _Huh?_ ” Hana trips out of her room, mildly annoyed that Mai had to call for something so tedious. “What’s going on?”

Mai stood frazzled, a table lamp gripped in between her fists, wielding it threateningly to whatever (or whoever) was by the living room window. 

“Dunno, but I just so happened to witness this _pervy_ _asshat_ climbing in through our fire escape!” The redhead thrusts her weapon at the accused, earning a frantic cry. 

“ _Waitwaitwait_ , hold on- _please_ don’t hit me again, lemme talk-”

The journalist steps into the living room, rustled by the sight of what was unmistakably her accomplice. 

“…Mr. Sizemore?” 

He flinches, eyes widening as soon as they met Hana’s. Despite his current predicament, Luke grins. “Heyyy, Flower! I got the right place after all!”

“What the hell are you doing here?!” Hana whisper shouts. She pushes Mai to the side, Mai gaping at her as she did so. “How did you even _find_ me?!”

His grin falls, an apologetic shrug taking its place. “Would you believe me if I said it was a lucky guess?”

Mai’s lamp-equipped arm falls to her side, staring at her roommate in absolute confusion. “What?”

Hana ignores her friend, moreso focused on the specifics as to _why_ this guy was back in her life. “Okay, that… that’s weird, but- whatever, are you out of your mind?!”

“Eh, _maybe_ , but that’s besides the point,” Luke props himself up on an elbow, wincing at the sharp pain in the back of his neck. “Just thought I’d swing by and invite you over! Me ‘n the gang saw your journal-thingy and they all really wanna meet you!”

“ _What?_ ”

Mai’s exclamation cut through as she pulled on Hana’s shoulders to capture her attention. “Hana, do you know this guy?”

Hana freezes. “I, uhmmm...”

She looks between Mai and Luke, shyly dragging out her words. “...Yeaaah? He’s a… colleague of mine?”

Her roommate taps a foot, a contemplative hand on her hip. “Okay, but I’ve _met_ all your colleagues and I’m pretty sure I’d remember some tall guy in a fedora-”

The redhead stops herself, a grim realization hitting her like a lamp to the back of the head. She narrows her eyes. “Oh, no. No no no. _Noooohohoho…_ _Hana…_ don’t tell me… is _this_ …?”

Hana stood pale faced, looking between the assassin and the entertainer. She quirks a half-hearted smile. 

Mai combusts. “You _sneak!_ ”

The journalist yelps, Mai releasing the table ornament and replacing it with a vice grip on her arm, dragging Hana out of the living room. Luke seems to shift a little as they leave, and Mai snaps around. 

“You move from that spot and I’ll slit your throat. _Don’t even test me._ ”

He sits back down. 

“What the _fuck,_ Hana?!” Mai slams the door shut behind them, letting go of Hana’s now red arm. “You promised me you weren’t gonna see him! You! Fucking! Promised!” She punctuates each word with a clap, further proving how upset she was. 

Mai lets out a frustrated groan, throwing her hands to the air. “And now he wants you to go meet his gang of drug dealers and criminals?! What the _fuck!_ ”

“Mai, listen, I had a good reason to-”

“I don’t _care_ if you had a good reason- he’s a fucking felon! And not just a felon at that, a wholeass _murderer!_ ”

Hana takes a casual seat on the edge of her friend’s bed, folding her arms. She takes in a deep breath. “I know you’re not going to trust me on this, but he’s actually… not that intimidating.”

The singer balks. “It’s not about if he’s intimidating or not! I don’t care if he was the most sunshine-rainbowiest person on the face of the earth, it doesn’t change the fact that he literally _kills_ _people_ for a living!”

“You haven’t even met him!” Hana’s voice was raised a bit too much for comfort, so she reeled it back in. “Look, when it comes to this guy, he can be… pretty persistent. He won’t be leaving anytime soon, not if I don’t go along with him.”

“That’s ridiculous! You _do_ realize how ridiculous you’re being right now, right?” Mai looked about ready to slam her head through a wall. “Let’s just, I dunno, do the _sensible_ thing and call the cops!”

“Oh, _fuck_ the cops, Mai!” The journalist snarks to her friend, stopping Mai’s thoughts. 

“Damn, I’m not gonna argue with that, girl.” The redhead suddenly remembers why she was mad again. “We’re getting off topic- what are we supposed to do?!”

Hana seems to want to respond but her friend cuts her off. “And _no,_ I’m not letting you go with him.”

The journalist furrows her brows, thoroughly frustrated. She balls her hands into fists, a groan escaping her lips. “Oh, my _God,_ Mai! You can’t keep controlling me like this- you’re not my mom!”

Mai’s face falls in guilt. “Oh, don’t do that to me, Hana-”

“Look, I know what I’m getting into. I’m not an idiot, Mai.”

“But-”

“No buts!” Hana steps up from the bed, crossing the room to where her roommate stood. She stands stubborn, refusing to look the journalist in the eye. 

“I know you just want to protect me, but I’m also allowed to make decisions for myself. If things look really, _really_ sketchy and I question my own safety, I promise I’ll come back right back home, okay? Everything’s going to be fine. Trust me.”

Mai’s hold on her ground falters slightly, her face screwed up in thought. She breaks. “Hhgh, _ffffffffffine…_ I trust you…”

Hana smiles, pulling her friend into a hug. Mai mumbles into her hair. “I camnft belife you… you’re so persfuasife…”

Meanwhile, Luke sits stationary in the girls’ living room, taking in the sights. He thinks to himself, _‘Wow! What a nice place.’_ , his patience going the extra mile. 

And then, without warning, the duo bust out of the door they disappeared into, the fiery one yanking Luke up by the collar of his shirt. 

“Listen here, _‘Yungtown-’_ ” A blazing sort of fury shone in Mai’s eyes. “I swear to fuckin’ God, if you or any of your little friends even _think_ about touching her, I am going to _invert_ your goddamn _skin,_ got it?”

He’s held petrified, not daring to so much as breathe. Sasaki repeats herself. “ _Got it?!_ ”

“I-I, I uh- Y-Yeah! Yeah yeah _yeah_ , I, ah, I got it! I hear you _loud and clear,_ hahah-”

“Good.” 

The hitman’s thrown back up with a yelp, rubbing the still-growing pain in his neck. Hana stands awkwardly at the side, offering only a grimace in consolation for his struggles. 

Mai roughly shoves him in the direction of the door. “Now get out of here before I hit you with something more damaging than a lamp.”

“ _Yeesh,_ that chick’s spicy,” Luke commented as soon as Hana closed the door behind them. “She usually this frightening?” 

“What? Oh, Mai?” Hana huffs, halfway cracking a smile. “Not all the time, no. She’s just especially protective when it comes to me. We’re close.”

“Ah.” Luke furrows his brows before coming to an incorrect conclusion. “So… are you two, like…?” 

He bumps his fists together in a way that could’ve only been suggestive. The metaphorical cogs in Hana’s mind wheel around, processing. 

“Oh. No, we’re just good friends. Nothing more.”

Luke grins, a twinge of pink dusting his cheeks. “Good to know.”

The journalist and the hitman trek through the city, passing streets and curbs that Hana had previously avoided due to, y’know, casual gang violence. They end up at a small complex on Bluebell Lane, a building not too far from the bar they were in only a few nights ago. 

“Is this… your apartment or your guys’ office…?” Hana questions as they stop in front of a door on the third floor.

Luke chuckles. “Might as well be both. It’s home more than anythin’ else.”

He fishes out his keys, Hana mentally preparing herself for whatever horrors awaited her. 

…Well, she certainly wasn’t prepared for _this._

A boy in suspenders was draped over the couch, his head hanging towards the ground. Two guys brawled it out in the center of the room over a bag of what _must’ve_ been shredded cheese. And another man, his long hair pulled into a bun, watched the whole thing happen in growing annoyance. 

And then, most noticeably, there was the shouting.

Lots of shouting. 

“-give me the _goddamn_ food Wallid-”

“You ate _yesterday,_ I haven’t eaten since-”

“Would all of you gangly bitches just stop it already-”

_“GET HIS ASS, CADDY!”_

Hana gapes up at Luke who merely stood uninterested. He shrugs. “This happens a lot, you’d be surprised.”

Luke clears his throat. “ _Guys!_ ”

The chaos ceases abruptly, all four of the apartment’s inhabitants staring at the newcomers like feral raccoons caught digging through the garbage. 

“Everyone,” The hitman nudges Hana forward a bit, shoving her into the spotlight. “This is Hana, the journalist I-”

“Luke! Is that your _girlfriend?!_ ”

A cacophony of scandalous _ooo’s_ rang throughout the living room, making Luke flush. “Oh, my God. _Guys.”_

“Luke’s told us all about you!” The one in suspenders flops off the couch, dusting himself straight. “I dunno, I don’t pay attention to what he says much of the time but he _really_ likes talking about you!”

“ _Jimmy!_ ” Luke barks, face on fire. “She doesn’t need to know that!”

The one who must’ve been Jimmy just grinned deviously. Luke mentally scorns him for the embarrassment. 

“So you’re The Wallflower, huh?” The stern one peels himself from the wall, his expression barely changing as he walked over. “We don’t get the paper around here but Luke managed to snag a copy from somewhere. I don’t even know where, I didn’t ask.”

Hana thinks he might put out his hand for a shake, but he only gave a halfhearted smirk. “Ian. Also more formally known as Brute. The two asses that were duking it out over there are Wallid and Caddy.”

The two ‘asses’ waved to her. The hitman standing next to Hana looks around the small apartment, apparently on the lookout for something. 

“Hey, where’s Spaceman at?”

“Grocery shopping,” Wallid answers. “He left a while ago, so he should be back any minute.”

“Hey guys!” Speak of the Devil- a man pushes through the front door, bag slung over and across his blue vest. “Guess who got granola bars?”

“ _Hell yeaaah!_ ” Jimmy yells, ecstatic as if he hadn’t eaten in two weeks. The newcomer tosses him a bar from his bag, immediately taking note of the stranger present. 

“Oh, you’re new.” Spaceman states the obvious. He puts a hand on his hip. “I’m guessing you’re that one journalist Yungtown told us about…?”

“Yes,” Hana, not sure of what to really do, grins crookedly. “Hana Mizuno.”

“Jeff Fabre- I kinda run things around here some of the time, though honestly I don’t think I do much.”

“Hell yeah, you don’t.” Ian snarks. 

Jeff rolls his eyes, throwing his fabric bag to the counter, pulling out a six-pack of coke bottles from a fridge that had definitely seen better days. “Make yourself at home, Hana, take a seat- Luke, where _is_ your hospitality? I swear, who taught you your manners?”

“ _You_ did.” Luke bites back, eyes narrowed. Jeff winks at Luke, smirk laced with smugness. 

Hana crosses the room to the couch, the cushions creaking concerning her, considering the fact that the noise sounded like a dying animal. She takes in the sights, her thoughts being backed by the clamoring of the apartment’s six inhabitants. 

Needless to say, it was a mess.

Soda bottles everywhere, cardboard boxes stacked high and written on with Sharpie, piles of paper plates in the _sink,_ of all places…

This… _certainly_ was a change of pace from the last mob base she’d been in. Definitely not what she was expecting. It felt like a college boys’ frat more than anything else. 

There was a noticeable lack of space in the apartment, too, with only two bedrooms and a small living room… they couldn’t have all lived together in this _one_ place, could they?

A hearty laugh from across the living room tore Hana from her thoughts. 

“Oh, look at her face- she looks _so_ clueless!” Jimmy nudges Luke in the shoulder, who had taken a seat in the armchair in front of the journalist. “God, did you tell her _anything_ about us before you had her rattle on down here?”

Luke opens his mouth to speak up, but Wallid beat him to it. “We know you probably have a lot of questions, Hana, so feel free to fire away!”

“…Alright.” Hana taps her fingers nervously on her skirt, all pairs of eyes in the room examining her like prey. “Which one of you is the leader? You all are higher-ups, I’m assuming?”

“Yup! All six of us!” Jeff pipes up. “As for the leadership, that’s kinda a dual effort between me and Brute.”

“Jeff and I started The Blocks about a decade ago, now, back when we were just idiot teens trying to survive on the streets.” Ian shrugs. “As for the rest of the dumbbells in this room, they hopped on along the way.”

Jeff laughs, popping open a coke bottle to hand off to Caddy. “It’s a joke between us all- we’re probably better off being called a delinquent support group than a full on _mob,_ y’know?”

The rest of the room chuckles along, save for the tense journalist on the couch. “What motivation did you have to gather The Blocks? Why join a gang?” 

“We all have our own reasons, I guess.” Spaceman leans against the counter, passing the bottle opener to the co-leader. “As for me, my parents didn’t take too well for what way I swung, they kicked me out, and so I dragged Ian out with me.”

Ian rolls his eyes. “I didn’t really have a choice in the matter.”

“And that brings us here!” Jeff flashes a bright grin, positively beaming. “Just a couple a’ dumbasses in the big city.”

“So whatever, enough about us-” Jimmy leans his elbows on the top of Luke’s chair, chin on his hands. “We want to hear about _you.”_

“Well…” Hana wrings her hands, keeping it in mind that it’d probably be best to tread with caution. “I’m a journalist for the Asagao City Chronicle, and I moved here from the town of Amaririsu a year ago.” 

“I…” She bites the inside of her cheek. “I’ve been journaling the feud between The Boots and The Blocks since then, and… I’m sorry, did you all need to see me in regard of a specific concern?”

“Nah, not really.” Caddy chimes in. “It’s just that wittle ol’ Wuke here talks our ear off about you, and we got curious is all.”  

Luke flushes scarlet down to his neck, glaring daggers at his friend. “Don’t call me that.” 

Ian snorts. “Caddy, you’re awful. Anyway, he’s right. We got curious.”

Hana nods hesitantly, completely disregarding Luke’s radiating embarrassment. “So… you’re not upset with me? Regarding the article?” 

The Blocks all look at each other. 

“No?” Ian quirks an eyebrow. “Why would we be?”

“Don’t you want me to take it down or else you’ll murder me and everyone I love in cold blood?” 

“Pfft-” Jeff waves a dismissive hand. “Nah, we’re not all about that. It’s chill, really. It was a bit of a publicity boost, anyway, so if anything we should be _thanking_ you!”

Hana hums, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “…Alright then.”

Jeff smirks one last time before going back to a discussion with both Wallid and Ian, something about the next grocery run or whatever, she couldn’t really hear over the sound of Jimmy’s attempt to wrestle the last granola bar out of Caddy’s hands. 

Hana tunes everything out for a bit, manually trying to speed up the processing process. This was… a _buckwild_ _night._ She was so tuned out, in fact, that she didn’t even realize the towering hitman in front of her, waving a hand in front of her face. 

“-in there? Earth to Flower?” 

The journalist falls back initially, heart skipping a beat in shock. Her nerves cooled off soon after however, and she shifted over on the couch to make room for Luke. “Apologies, Mr. Sizemore, did you say something?”

“Nah, nothing really important.” He hands her a soda bottle, the bottlecap already removed. She checks the bottom of the bottle before taking a quick sip, thankful for some sort of drink. “Y’know you don’t have to call me that, right?”

Hana almost chokes on her drink. “Sorry?”

“‘Mr. Sizemore,’ ‘sir,’ all that’s so upstage, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I suppose so…”

“Just Luke is fine.” He takes a sip of his own bottle, watching his friends in contentment. Luke huffs. “What d’you think of the guys? Not near as nifty as me, huh?” 

Luke winks at her, to which Hana only rolls her eyes, scooting farther away from the flirt. 

“You probably didn’t expect all this, did you?” 

“Well… to be honest,” Hana blinks at him, eyes flicking back to the chaos commencing in the kitchen. “D-Definitely not…”

“Yeah,” Luke cracks his knuckles. “They sure are a rowdy bunch, I’ll give them that. Gotta love ‘em, though.”

“Ah, shoot,” Jeff calls out over everyone else, looking down at his watch. “I better head back out now, meeting a coworker for dinner.”

“So soon?” Luke frowns. “Hana just got here-”

“Sorry, y’all, this is pretty important.” The leader excuses himself, pulling a jacket from the rickety coat rack. “Can’t miss it- I’ll get my ass handed to me if I do.”

He waves at the journalist from the door. “It was nice meeting you, Hana! Hope to see you again soon!”

She awkwardly waves back, hand lowering as soon as he was gone. 

“Yeah, Jeff’s busy with work a lot.” Luke shrugs, putting his coke bottle to the side. He rubs the side of his face, fixing his hat. “It’s understandable, though, I don’t blame him one bit. Life’s wild, and we’ve got mouths to feed.”

Hana looks around the apartment once more; even with one less person inside, there was still a noticeable lack of breathing room. Despite all that, she felt a little more at home with The Blocks right now, what with their familial chaos. 

She nods, to no one in particular but herself. “Life sure is wild…”

 

Jeff, with his hands in his pockets to spite the cold, half-stumbles, half-jogs himself along the sidewalk, following the river that cut through the city. A steel bridge loomed proudly in the close distance, and a figure stood leaning over the rail, throwing stones into the stream of black ink. 

The figure, alerted by Jeff’s leaf-crunching footsteps, turns, a grin plastering itself on his face. Spaceman’s pulled into the figure’s arms, the cold escaping him instantly. 

“You’re late.” The figure snarks, separating to stick his tongue out at Jeff. 

“Ah, shut up, douchebag- I came as quick as I could.” Jeff puts a hand into his, relishing in the snug lace between them. “Dinner’s at 8:30, right?” 

“Yup,” He presses his lips to Jeff’s for a moment, pulling away with a dopey smile. “We should probably head out now, huh? Since _someone_ decided that it’d be a good idea to show up late!”

Jeff shoves him, snickering despite the action. “Austin, you absolute walnut- remind me why we’re dating again?” 

Austin grins. “Because you looove meee?” 

“Yep, and that’s exactly it.”

Their hands are swung between them, the couple filled with pure, unadulterated giddiness. 

 

The audience sits back in confusion. Where the fuck did this come from?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello i love the blocks with all my heart i would die for each and every one of them


	7. star-crossed lovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it’s late and my eyes hurt but we out here
> 
> also not to be sappy on main or anything but shoutout to dream i love her so much,, she is seriously one of my favorite people ever and this au would not exist without her ,,, [heart emoji] dream ik you’re reading this ilysm

I understand how absolutely perplexed you must be. And that’s okay! You’ve got a lot on your plate right now. I’d be confused, too, if I were in your position. 

I’m afraid I haven’t introduced myself yet- I’m the Narrator, and I personally want to take a moment to thank you for giving me reason to follow our characters around as long as I have. And, before you get the notion to ask, _no,_ I am not a character in this story. How does that work, you may ask? Don’t worry about that. It just does. 

Feel free to consider me as nothing more than a third party; I’m only here to show you how everything plays out, to give you everyone’s hand in this lethal game of cards. At the same time, I’m trying to stay out of everyone’s business if I can help it. 

Well, that’s one elephant in the room shot down! Here’s another- 

Austin? Who _is_ this Austin? We only know PBG, but they _couldn’t_ be the same person, could they? And even if they _were_ hypothetically one in the same, what in the world was he doing out with _Jeff?_

Look, things will be clear soon enough, I _promise_ you- in the meantime, let’s rewind the tape a bit, shall we? How about… two years ago! Does that sound good?

… 

Seeing as it’s virtually impossible for you to give me any form of input, I’m just going to continue from there. 

Ahh, two years before the present- Asagao was a much different place then. A grandiose city of opportunity for those who had the grand idea of banding together, a splendor to be beheld. There was no trace of war, no sabotage, no bloodshed- well, okay, _minimal_ bloodshed -and no point of arguing at all. 

Except for tonight. The line was crossed. 

A literal, _physical_ line, mind you. 

 

Brute thrust an arm out, standing up to gesture to green and yellow colored zones on a widespread map. _“Look,_ all we’re asking is for you to stay on _your side_ of the divide!”

This was Austin’s, (or, as you know him, PBG), first meeting with The Boots and The Blocks, and so far it was _fiery._ He stands a few rows back, watching the four debaters in the center of the room. Two of which were of his own clan- Shark and Completion. The former had a fist on the table in growing annoyance, the latter with his own hand in his partner’s. 

“Brute, as we’ve established many, _many times_ tonight,” Shark, visibly holding back his growing frustration, grits it out. “None of your lines were crossed. The Boots have held the southeast for half a year now.”

“That’s a load of bullshit, and you know it!” Brute spat, refusing to stand down. Austin wasn’t really focused on him now, though, the majority of his attention put onto the fourth member. 

And _oh boy._

Austin thinks he heard his name at some point- Spaceman, something theatrical ‘n astronomical like that -and _God,_ was he fucking _gorgeous._

Brown hair fluffed, vest impeccably pressed, that man was a living work of art. He heard a rumor from somewhere, his family was French or something, which could probably explain why he was the physical embodiment of beauty itself. 

Spaceman didn’t seem interested much in the debate at hand, instead letting his co-pilot fight this out. He wore a lax smile, chin resting on his overlapped hands above the table and-

…Wait. 

…Oh God he just winked right at Austin. That totally wasn’t at all what he was expe- holy fuck, did he just blow a fucking _kiss?!_

The caporegime snapped his gaze away, sure that he was flushed an obscene red down to his neck. Austin’s heartbeat escalates, his chest trembling in a way that made him want to go throw himself into the river to save him from this embarrassment. 

Spaceman, on the other hand, only grins wider, fully aware of how big of a cocky flirt he was. He had that effect on people; men everywhere fell right at his feet, longing for his presence, and this newcomer proved to be no different. 

Brute slapped Spaceman upside the head, snapping him out of it. “Dude- wake up!” The co-leader shook his head, taking in a breath to cool himself. He directs his attention to The Boots’ secretary, standing a few feet away from the chaos. “Erudite, you have the charts from previous meets, right? Let’s just pull them out and prove that The Blocks _definitely_ have control over the southeast.”

Before Erudite could even think of a response, Completion spoke up. “That, uh, _might_ be a problem…” Completion smiles apologetically, trailing off. “We left them back at the office.”

Brute’s eye twitched. “You… _what?_ ”

All of a sudden, Shark shot up from his seat, filled with an unrestricted flame with a hand slammed upon the table. “Brute, this is _absurd-_ why can’t you just accept the fact that you’re in the wrong so we can get on with our lives?!”

“Oh, you mother _fu-”_

 _“Hey!”_ Completion struck down the brawl before it started. “The both of you need to calm down! Brute, I understand your concern, but this is no way to settle a petty problem.” 

“And Shark,” Completion continued as soon as Brute’s fighting stance fell. “Just… chill out.”

Shark gapes down at his partner, to which Completion only gave a half-exasperated stare. Begrudgingly, Shark slumps back down in his chair, arms folded. 

“Everyone, we’ll be taking a five minute recess.” Completion announced to the crowd, relaying the message to both Boot and Block soldiers. 

The announcer spoke some more to the already murmuring crowd, Brute leaning over to rat on his friend. 

“What the _hell,_ Jeff?” Spaceman was pulled from his trance, only looking at his co-leader for no more than a few moments before drifting back as he spoke. _“Hellooo-_ Earth to Spaceman, you have to help me in this, we’re both responsible for- are you even listening to me?!” 

Spaceman didn’t bother answering, instead standing up to walk over to a certain green-clad caporegime of ours leaned up against the back wall. Brute screwed up his brows in confusion. 

“Jeff, where are you- oh my fucking God.” The co-leader stopped himself immediately. He stares at his friend in disbelief, watching as Jeff went to make a move. God, Brute was in a state of just being _constantly_ ready for someone pull the damn trigger. 

Spaceman looks over his shoulder back at his longtime friend, shooting a shot at him with a finger gun, to which he received an annoyed, disapproving glare. 

Not exactly the kind of shot Ian was hoping for, but that would do for now.

Austin, even while being supported by the wall, almost slips as he realizes that a _certain Block_ was makin’ his way over. Fuck. 

“Hey,” Jeff slides over and into Austin’s metaphorical DM’s. “You’re new.”

“I…” The caporegime blinks, cheeks pinker than ever. He chuckles out of nervous habit. “I, uh, y-yeah! First time here, haha…”

He trails off, internally screaming- that was not _at all_ smooth of him. _Fuck._

Jeff didn’t mind- in fact, he _relished_ in it. He looks Austin up and down. “What’s a slick guy like you doing hanging around with a couple a’ Boots?”

The leader flaunted a light, pleasant lilt, and _God_ it sure did wonders fixing Austin into even more of a flustered mess. “J-Just tryna pay the bills ‘n all that… it’s good enough money.”

A moments silence drags in, Jeff biting his lip and Austin continuing his internal screeching. The caporegime clears his throat. 

“S-So, are- are you… are we gonna discuss what happened? Just, like, f-four minutes ago?”

Jeff quirks a brow, smirking all the while. “What d’you mean?”

“Th- the _thing!”_ Austin blurts. “You know… the- the whole-” He mimics Jeff winking and blowing a kiss. “-Thing! That one! …Yeah.”

Where was the nearest patch of drywall for Austin to put his head through?

“We _could_ discuss it now, but…” Jeff inches closer to Austin, the latter leaning back the slightest bit as to not fall over. “I was thinking it’d be a much better dinner topic. How’s tomorrow at eight sound?”

The caporegime sputters, mind going blank as he tries to come up with some pathetic excuse of a response. “I- I mean, I-”

The clamoring in the room begins to calm, Shark and Completion taking their respective seats back in the center of the warehouse. 

Jeff rolls his eyes. “I better go, but… I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, then?”

“S-Sure!” Austin affirmed without a second thought, which may or may not have been a good thing considering the circumstances of their current situation. “That, uh- it- sounds good!”

Jeff, flirty as ever, checks him out one last time before turning to return back to his rightful place. “See you tomorrow, then.”

Austin, stationary and frozen on the wall, just about passes out. Holy fuuuuck what the hell just happened and how the fuck did he not cry even once during that whole thing. He wasn’t going to sleep tonight, was he _. Fuck._

It should go without saying, but Austin wasn’t able to focus on the meeting at all, save for the star outshining the rest of the room.

 

Well, I hope that cleared some of your confusion up. It was nice to finally share this piece of the puzzle with you. Everyone on the same page now?

…Who am I, you ask?

Sorry, I have to laugh, I thought we already went over this. Why, I’m the Narrator! Whyever would you-

… 

Ah. I see. 

…

How do I put this… 

For… confidentiality’s sake, I’m afraid I can’t reveal to you my true identity. Please forgive me for that. If I _could_ tell you, I promise you, I would have done it from the start. But rest assured knowing that I’m no one of importance. 

Let’s move along. Now- 

… 

… 

… 

…Apologies, something just came up. It looks like this is where we will have part ways for now. 

Before I depart, I just want to thank you once again for giving me this opportunity; I’ve thanked you one too many times now, but storytelling is just… such an art, and it means the world that you’re following along with me. 

I hope to speak with you again in the nearby future.

\- Narrator 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was so funking y’all 
> 
> also this art is very good and gay appreciate it or die:  
> https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/577250684261367829/633901710246412298/yeah_we_gay_doing_crimes_keep_scrolling.png


	8. sentiment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don’t have a quirky note @me come back to this note or something

Damnnit. 

Smoke billows through the kitchen, Hana at the counter, cigarette in between her fingers. She taps her foot nervously against the stool, focused on everything and nothing all at once. This… wasn’t good. 

Unsurprisingly, Hana’s boss had become a little upset at the lack of her journals, but what could she do? Her expertise was crime, and that made writing about said expertise a tad bit difficult considering said crime put her in the position she was right now. It wasn’t like she could just pick up a pen and start scribbling down again or anything, not if she wanted to keep her best friend _alive_ for a few more weeks! And now, she’s sat alone in her apartment, smoking it up while waiting for one boss or another to pull the trigger.

Good _God,_ everything was just going posilutely _swell_ for Hana Mizuno on this fine day! 

Hana, being so fixated on her own problems, doesn’t even notice the _new_ one initially- a rhythmic, smooth tapping on the window. 

It takes another two good taps for the journalist to get her shit together and process that there was a whole ass man outside on the fire escape- unsurprisingly, it was none other than her good ol’ accomplice, Luke Sizemore, brandishing a wave from the other side. 

“Jesus Christ-” She flicks her cigarette’s ashes after recovering from the short lived surprise, immediately being replaced with annoyance. The journalist stomps over, sliding open the window. “What the _fuck,_ Luke? I have a _door,_ you know?”

 _“Ehh,_ this was _much_ more convenient!” Luke climbs through, brushing nonexistent dust off his vest. He immediately takes note of her sharp, disapproving glare. “Yikes, it was just a joke, Flower, I’ll use the door next time…”

“Whatever, it’s fine, just… you’re lucky that Mai isn’t home right now.” Hana sits back down at the counter, a hand to her temple and the other occupied with a cigarette. “Do you need something? I’m kind of not in the mood for any bullshit right now.”

“Naw, I was just in the neighborhood so I thought I’d pop in and say hi!” The journalist drags on her drug again, nervously biting the inside of her cheek after the smoke blows out into the air. Luke blinks for a moment in confusion before speaking again. “You good, Flower? No offense or nothing but you’re lookin’ kinda… frazzled.”

Hana huffs, not even sparing him so much as a glance. “Oh, I’m just _dandy,_ Luke, thanks for asking.”

There’s another puff on her cig, and the resulting smoke blows out in front of her. The hitman furrows his brows, more than a bit concerned for her wellbeing. 

“Flower, hey,” He crosses over, leaning down to look Hana in the eye. “Not tryna control your life or nothin’ but… smoking’s not exactly a good way to handle stress. You wanna talk about it?”

The journalist opens her mouth, almost about to say no, but she stops herself after seeing his genuine worry. Hana slumps over on the counter a bit more. 

”It’s just… work has me stressed as of late. My boss has been on my case with my journals and the lack of them, but it’s kind of hard to actually _write_ when I’ve got a _mob boss_ watching my every move, and my friend’s blood will be on _my_ hands if I even _try_ to work-”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Hana’s gaze must have drifted downward during that anxious monologue, because the hitman tilts her chin back up to look at him. His expression was filled with such concentrated care that it was almost hard to keep eye contact. “You’ve got a lot on your plate right now, and I’m glad you got a bit of it off your chest.”

The journalist settles a little, grimacing while they stare at each other. She moves her head away, looking to the side. 

“Y-Yeah. I’m sorry, I’m just… not sure what to do right now.”

Luke blinks for a moment, watching Hana deflate somehow even more. He chuckles gently, effectively getting the journalist’s attention. “I think I know just the thing- c’mon, I’ll take you there.”

 

The hitman pours hot peppermint tea into a ceramic cup, the liquid almost pooling out over the top. The two of them were alone in a closed coffee shop, Luke taking Hana in through the back and settling her down at the bar. 

“Been working here for a couple years now.” He slides it over to Hana, the rising steam trailing closely behind. She takes the cup in her hands, sipping it gratefully. “It’s decent work, tips pay well.”

Luke’s noticeably calmer right now, more so than Hana’s ever been exposed to. Whether it was for her sake or not, she didn’t care. This was nice. 

He smiles and leans forward on the counter, looking around the shop. “It’s nice in here, huh? See that piano over there?” Luke gestures to a hickory colored upright piano against the wall, a small stack of sheet music on top of it. “I’ll play it sometimes after closing. It’s pretty relaxing.”

Hana blinks at him. “You play piano?”

The hitman nods, sight still set on the instrument. “Yeah. My folks had me all signed up for it when I was still a kid. We were poor growing up, and lessons didn’t really fit into the budget, but they made it work out somehow. I’ve always appreciated that.”

He smiles to himself, softly chuckling for a moment. Luke looks back to Hana. “You do anything growing up?”

She thought about it for a second, aware that his gaze was still on her, waiting for her to respond. “I gardened with my mother a lot. We planted pansies and morning glories and sold them to neighbors in Amaririsu.”

The hold on her cup tightens warmly. “I miss it sometimes.”

“She still garden?”

The journalist bites her lip. “…She passed away when I was nine. So no.”

A flash of sympathy passes through Luke’s gray eyes. “Ah. I’m… sorry, Flower.”

Hana shakes her head, turning away in embarrassment. “Don’t apologize. It wasn’t your fault.”

She takes another drink of her tea, ignoring Luke’s downcast stare. The wind whooshes outside, and it effectively breaks through the silence caught between the pair. A twirl of autumn leaves dance through the breeze, travelers in the air. The evening sun shines off the foliage, setting slowly behind the backdrop of buildings.

Hana slides the cup back to Luke, finished with her drink. “Thank you for the tea, Luke.” 

“My pleasure.” He grins, looking outside; it’s not too dark yet. Drumming his fingers against the countertop, Luke poses a question. “There’s probably still a good half hour of daylight left, you wanna go stroll around?”

Hana nods without even thinking twice. 

 

They find themselves in the park, a golden glow casted upon them. It was something straight out of a novel; a square park, pathway lined by honey and cherry and spice leafed oak trees. There was no one else in sight, leaving the partners in crime alone to talk. 

Hana’s calm, almost bordering on comfortable now. “When did you meet The Blocks?”

Luke hums, looking to the sky. “ _Man…_ I think I was… sixteen at the time? Maybe seventeen, but honestly, who’s keeping track? I met Jeff ‘n Ian in a grocery store of all places, back when I was still nothin’ but a starving scamp on the streets. They took me under their wing, and eventually the rest of The Blocks came along to join us.”

His pace slows a little, letting Hana catch up and walk at a more comfortable speed. “I owe a lot to them, and I love them all as if they were my own flesh and blood. It’s true, y’know, the joke between all us- we really _are_ just a delinquent support group. I mean…”

“None of us are really… gang material. We don’t come from mob families or nothin’.” Luke’s hands are in his pockets. He shrugs. “Jeff’s parents were rich and French or whatever, but they disowned him for something he couldn’t even control. Ian stuck it out with him and started The Blocks, gotta love that stubborn ass. Caddy was a problem kid or something in school, got mixed up in the wrong crowd. Good lil’ Jimmy ran away from the orphanage, and I don’t even have a _clue_ where Wallid came from.”

“It just makes me feel so… so _lucky_ that I got to meet all them, y’know? ‘Cause they’re…”

He laughs. “Well, they’re family!”

“And I know we don’t have much- I mean, most of our meals come from things we can get away with slipping up our sleeves but… at the end of the day, we have each other.”

The hitman’s face turns a gentle peach, the embarrassment of rambling on about his friends dawning on him, but Hana didn’t really notice. She’s busy being discomforted by a newfound anxiety, nerves put into motion. Where the hell did _this_ come from?

“It’s really cliche, I know, but… what else do you really need?”

Luke looks back at her for the first time since the beginning of his prompted ramble. The brim of his hat is tilted out of the way, allowing dim evening light to sheen off his face. Hana’s heart skips a beat. 

“Sorry, I’ve been talkin’ a long time, but… I dunno. What do you think, Flower?”

If tonight was supposed to be the de-frying of Hana’s nerves, all the progress towards it was thrown right into the road. She’s caught tongue tied- for _whatever_ reason, the words weren’t clicking with her for the first time in her life.

Well, fuck, she was just sick to her stomach now. 

“Uhh…” Luke must’ve noticed that something was off, his smile falling. “Everything alright, Flower?”

“I-I…” Hana bites the inside of her cheek, mind racing _way_ too fast for her to really focus- _God,_ when did it start warming up out here? “Y-yeah, I’m all good, I think… just a bit nauseated all of a sudden.”

Luke reaches over, putting the back of his wrist to her forehead. “Oh, geez, you’re burning up big time- you allergic to somethin’ in the tea?”

More heat rushes to the journalist’s cheeks as she’s face to face with Luke in that brief moment. She swallows. 

“Th-that’s probably it,” Hana trips over her words, suddenly lightheaded. “My stomach’s feeling… woozy.”

“Shoot, I’m sorry ‘bout that,” Luke steps back, an apologetic smile on his face. “Just had to go ‘n screw everything up, didn’t I?”

His joke did little to calm her down. “No, no, you’re fine, it’s… I think I should be going home. I’m sorry.”

“Nah, you’re fine, don’t worry ‘bout a thing,” He waves it off. “You need to rest, I’ll walk you back home.”

The atmosphere is cooler now, Hana and Luke leisurely ambling back to Primrose Avenue. He walks her back upstairs, wishing her goodnight and a ‘feel better soon.’ She only nods in response, closing the door behind her. 

Hana’s hold on the door handle lingers. She sighs, hearing Luke’s footsteps turn quieter and quieter until they were practically nonexistent. Her stomach calms minutely, the swelling and receding waves of nausea suddenly disappearing. Weird.

As she steps into the kitchen, Hana takes in the familiar smell of stale tobacco. The red box of cigarettes lies still on the countertop. She takes the cardboard into her hold, shaking its contents back and forth lightly. Hana bites her lip. 

After a significant moment of consideration, Hana deposits the box into a junk drawer, fully aware of the fact that she'd come looking for some stress relief sooner or later, only to find that it was nowhere in sight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smash that like button if you think that hana ‘wallflower’ mizuno is an emotionally constipated dumbass


	9. shattered glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw: guns, violence, blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh lawd here we Go ,,, 
> 
> so yeah there is some shooty blood n stuff in here,, not too heavy though ,

“Now, I know what you’re thinkin’, I see it all over your face- you think that this’s all some kind of joke. But you gotta believe me, Flower!” 

Luke, with a brow quirked and smirk posed, rests an elbow on the booth table. “All of it’s true.”

Hana stared at the hitman across the booth in perplexion, hands in her lap. “So you’re telling me… you guys found Wallid in your apartment. On the counter. Crouched over a bag of _shredded cheese?”_

“And it was the good bag, too! The man had the audacity to snatch the name brand one!”

“…Dear God.” She blinks, a headache mounting as she tried to make sense out of this mess. “And- and your… first thought was to… _recruit_ him?”

“Well, I mean, he _did_ break in, so there must’ve been some kinda smarts there in the process.”

Time seems to cut short for just a moment, and Hana can’t help but crack a snort. With a shake of her head, she begrudgingly smiles down at her hands. “God, Luke, that is nothing short of… fatuous.” 

He beams, a sense of triumph filling him watching her reaction. Luke leans an arm on the side of the booth. “It makes for an entertaining story, that’s for sure.” 

The Bottled Brick was lively tonight, much more so than when the journalist first ventured here. Raucous laughter and joyous toasting clinks of bottles reverberated off the walls, sending an unfamiliar (but not unwelcome) sort of warmth through the air.

Luke smiles at the woman across from him for a moment before reaching for his drink. It’s put to his lips, but there’s nothing but drips left. He frowns. 

“Man, there goes my fun. ‘Ey, bud!” Luke yells across the room to the bar. The bartender looks over his shoulder, previously preoccupied with organizing an array of bottles on the wall. “How about you get me another one of these guys-”

At the last syllable, the side window shatters. The room falls silent. A single bullet, straight through one set of glass to another. Shards of an empty bottle crack and lie still on the counter. 

A hushed, confused murmur waves over the crowd, people shifting quietly where they were placed. Hana draws her eyes from the room to Luke. 

“…What-”

It’s like a drop of a hat; everything that could’ve gone to shit did, and shit went _hard._ The front door is kicked open, men equipped with black firearms, displaying absolutely no sign of restraint or formality. 

A hard lump rests in Hana’s throat, the loud pounding of blood in her ears accompanied by pure _panic._ “Luke, what’s- what’s going on?!” 

Luke’s eyes frantically scan the room, still taking in the gravity of the situation. The shouts of patrons, the echoes of each shot… 

He finally snaps himself out of it, looking across the table at Hana. “We need to leave. _Now._ ”

Without any sort of warning, the hitman springs from his seat, Hana shooting up with him. He yanks Hana’s hand into his, almost tight enough to be a death grip. Luke pulls the both of them through the crowd towards the back door, only to be shoved out of the way and into the shelves display of empty liquor. The array shatters, sending an avalanche of crystalline shards over him. Luke swears, clutching at his arms in apparent pain. 

“Luke- Jesus _fuck!_ ” Hana, released from his hold, presses closer to help him. She struggles to shout over the rest of the room, slinging his arm over her shoulder. “God, this- are you o-”

“Not a very good time for questions, Mizuno- let’s _go!_ ” He shrugs her off and tugs her hand again, shaking off the pain for now. 

They finally exit the building- not after getting shoved around by more drunken men, unfortunately- seemingly in the clear. However, the pair kept running- Hana almost windless trying to keep up- for a block, possibly two blocks, before pulling over onto the side when Luke was certain they were in the clear. 

Hana, coughing up both of her beaten lungs, leans against the cold brick wall. “Luke… wh- what the _fuck_ just happened?!” 

He puts his unoccupied hand to his head, pulling off his hat to ruffle his up hair. Still out of breath, he spits out a single word. “Boots.”

Hana groans. “ _Goddamnit..._ ” 

“I have… no clue how they found the place,” Luke coughs. “A thing like this hasn’t happened for _years._ ”

Wow. “Just our luck.”

He nods, a breathless laugh escaping him. “Yeah. Some freakin’ luck we have.”

Hana intends on adding something more, maybe something snarky to ease her mind, but she’s cut short when she feels a warm trickle cross from Luke’s hand to her own. 

With a yelp, Hana abruptly releases his hold. Her hand hovers stiffly in the air as she stares down at his arms. “Oh, shit...”

Luke, confusion set in his brows, cocks his head. He looks down. Crimson smears of what was unmistakably his _own blood_ stained both of his forearms and bled through his right shirt sleeve, accompanied by several surface-level scores. Tiny bits of browned glass stuck to Luke’s skin, and he held out his arms in front of him, assessing the carnage. 

“…Well, that’s not good.”

“Yeah, that’s…” Hana steps back, a twisting nerve settling in her stomach. The hitman kept observing his wounds, eyes repeatedly flicking from the left to the right. “That’s… pretty fucking far from good.”

After checking himself out for a few more tense seconds, he shrugs. “Eh, not a big deal- this ain’t the end of the world.” 

She blinks at him, completely horrified. “You… you can’t be serious.” 

“What?” He chuffs, clearly confused. “Flower, you don’t get it- _much_ worse has happened to me, this is _nothin’!_ ”

Luke tries to reassure her by waving it off, only succeeding in causing himself more pain. Hana doesn’t buy any of it. 

“No, no, Luke- this isn’t just _nothing._ This is serious and-” Hana fumbles awkwardly with her hands, trying to find the right words to go with her gestures. “Do… do you have, like, bandages and antiseptic at your place?”

“Who’s... Auntie Sep-Tick?” 

Hana looks into the camera like she’s on The Office. Of course. “Let’s… just go to my place.”

 

“Luke, will you _please_ just- _hold still!”_

The hitman winces, his whole body tensed up as Hana puts an antiseptic soaked towel to his forearm. With his other elbow resting on the counter, he puts a hand to his temple. “I’ll be the first to tell you, Flower- this ain’t exactly a _pleasant_ experience…”

Hana roughly wipes down the first few cuts, keeping an eye out for any loose splinters of glass she might have missed. “It’s for your own good, Luke.”

“Still,” Luke hissed through clenched teeth. “It wouldn’t kill ya to maybe be a bit… gentler, would it?”

The journalist picks a diamond shaped fragment from a cut, no larger than a bit of pencil lead. She furrows her brows. “…I’ll try.”

The cloth is pulled away, Hana reaching across the counter for the white roll of bandages. And in that moment, for some unbeknownst reason, Luke took the liberty of blowing the freshly cleaned cuts dry. 

Hana gapes at her accomplice. “Wh- Luke, I _just_ cleaned those!” 

Luke scoffs. “What’s the deal? It’s not like it’s gonna get diseased or-”

Hana dabs the alcohol-soaked cloth on his arm, earning a shocked yelp and him promptly shutting up. “Actually, Luke, yes it will. So stop being an imbecile and just… I know what I’m doing.”

She grabs the roll of gauze once more, taking the hitman’s forearm into her hand. “Hold still.”

Hana wraps Luke’s arm, starting from his elbow and traveling all the way up to his wrist. Both of them are quiet, embarrassed heat rushing to Hana’s face as she becomes aware of his flickering stare on her. Hesitance arises as she goes to wrap the mesh fabric around his palm, but the journalist sucks it up and gets the job done. 

The end’s snipped off, and Luke extends his arm out in front of him as soon as Hana pulls away. He flexes his fingers, twisting his hand around once, then twice, examining her craftsmanship. 

He grins softly, rubbing his freshly bandaged palm with a thumb. “I… thank you, Flower. For all this. Man, I really owe you one.”

The hitman watches her face crinkle up in stubborn embarrassment. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No, seriously!” Luke continues the conversation as she fixes up a fresh rag for his other arm. “This is… honestly one of the kindest things anyone’s ever done for me- Flower, you gotta lemme do something’ for you, I wouldn’t be in good conscience otherwise! Hold on, I’mma think for a second…”

Luke puts a thoughtful finger to his chin as Hana slowly pours the fluid onto the new towel, suspended above his forearm. 

“Oh! I think I got something!” He perks up, noticeably straighter in his seat. With a grin on his face, he proposes an idea. “How’s dinner sound-”

To the hitman’s terrible misfortune, he was interrupted by a surprising dump of antiseptic straight onto his scrapes and wounds. A short but meaningful ‘damn it’ escapes his lips, and Hana snaps back to reality. 

“ _Fuck-_ sorry sorry sorry! Shit, I-I…” The journalist sputters, blood crimson in the face. She inwardly panics watching Luke hold back a screech, biting down on the inside of his cheek like no tomorrow. “I- I _really_ did not mean to do that, Luke, I-I’m-”

“N-Nah, it’s fine, you’re fine, it’s just…” After a moment, Luke throws back his head, exhaling loudly and laughing despite the pain. Tears welled in his eyes, threatening to spill over despite his apparent elation. “Aichee _mama,_ that _burned!_ Jeez, I offer you a meal then you immediately go and try to off me?”

“It was an accident!” Hana protests, bunching up in defense. 

Luke just snickers at her posture, still a bit dazed. He pulls over a dry cloth to mop up a bit of the antiseptic. “Sorry for spookin’ you, then.”

“You didn’t _spook_ me!” She retorts. “You just… distracted me.” 

“Distracting, spooking, it’s all in the same ballpark at the end of the day. But really, you’re fine.”

A terse quiet fills the kitchen, Hana sitting in silence while watching Luke carefully tend to his unbandaged arm. She sighs with a bit lip, her foot tapping against the stool. 

“Give me your arm.” Hana requests curtly. Luke shifts in his seat, handing her the cloth and his right arm. She was refusing eye contact, instead examining the damage. 

His sleeve was torn to almost the shoulder, cuts visible through the fabric. “We’re going to have to cut this part off.” She gestures to his upper arm. 

Luke’s face pales, falling back in his seat. “ _What?_ ” 

Okay, there may have been a _bit_ of a miscommunication. “No, no- we don’t need to amputate! It’s just- I just… need to cut the sleeve.”

He settles and exhales, visible relief plastered on his face. “Okay, jeepers, I was just ‘bouta say…”

Hana takes the pair of scissors, starting from his elbow and cutting carefully to just below the shoulder. After flicking away glass shards, the process repeats. 

“I hope this shirt wasn’t too important to you,” Hana murmurs indifferently. Luke flinches as soon as the damp cloth meets his skin, apparently not used to the sting yet. The journalist chuffs. 

“Your tolerance for pain is… intriguing, to say the least.” The journalist gets a brow quirked at her. She puts the towel to the side and explains while starting work with the bandage near his shoulder and down. 

“You were… almost completely unfazed after getting shoved into a liquor array, but somehow, you make getting wounds cleaned seem like absolute hell.”

He smirks as she extends his arm, having some difficulty with the elbow. “Says the one who slipped and dumped liquid fire onto my sliced arms.” 

Even while in a rather… unsavory state of physical health, Luke had the nerve to remark. Hana tries to bite back a smile, failing when a light chuckle escapes her.

“Okay, that’s fair.” Her delicate fingers fasten the end of the gauze around his palm, thoughtlessly lowering his arm to rest her hand on his. “Still it’s… kind of strange, Luke.” 

“ _Man,_  you are nothin’ but mean to me, Flower! I came here to get patched, not to get bullied.” He sighs, shaking his head at her sarcastically. With his other hand, he rubs the side of his face. “I mean, I’d honestly be better off if you’d just, I dunno… kissed them better or something like that.” 

Time seems to stop short for the both of them, Hana’s heart falling through her stomach like a brick. Luke takes quick note of her reaction, immediately going to fix the problem. 

“…Oh. Yeah, that- hah, um…” Hana immediately removes her hand from his, leaning back slightly to put some distance between them. He flushes, the embarrassment hitting him all at once. “That- that was a joke, Mizuno, I’m, uh…”

The last word catches in his throat, and it fails to be stammered out. 

Hana mindlessly fidgets with the cuff of her shirt, face pale with what _must’ve_ been shock. She sighs. “You… should probably leave.”

“Mai will be home soon,” Hana states simply, standing up to gather the gauze and antiseptic. “And unless you want to have another attempt on your life, I’d suggest you get a head start.” 

Hana looks over at him for a split second before putting the items in a kitchen cupboard, a halfhearted grimace on her face. Luke takes the hint. 

“Ah.” He stands, pushing in the stool and awkwardly shuffles to the door. Luke clears his throat. “Thank you for, uh… takin’ care of me tonight, Mizuno.”

She nods. 

Not sure of what to make of that response, Luke nods as well, pulling open the door. Hana’s stiff posture wilts, relieved that the tension was about to settle but oddly, she felt... guilty.  It didn’t make  _any_ amount of sense, really, but...

The journalist takes in a shaky breath.

“To answer your question from earlier, Luke-” Hana blurts, stopping the hitman in his tracks. His head snaps back to her. 

She bites the inside of her cheek with softly furrowed brows, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a smile. “Dinner doesn’t sound bad. I’m free on Saturday.” 

Luke stands still in the entrance, eyes slightly wider than what would generally be considered normal. With a hopeful grin, he shuts the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wahh they’re dumb 
> 
> also Hapy Holidayes

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Northern Star of Asagao City](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18989497) by [ghostlerhost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostlerhost/pseuds/ghostlerhost)
  * [aphrodite drinks cocktails](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20331913) by [idontknowhowtoread (heatherpotts)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heatherpotts/pseuds/idontknowhowtoread)




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